[Intro] Angelic Alliance, roll call! Dragons, Jedi, halos—everybody present? [Verse 1] You kicked the old cave door like you owned the whole ridge, Now your battle plan’s a napkin on a half-burned bridge. You poked an ancient dragon—bold move, little crew, Now your helmets smell like barbecue and bad decisions too. The Jedi drew a circle; the angels checked the list, The dragons asked, “Who started this?” You somehow got dismissed. You came in yelling thunder, left whispering, “My bad,” That’s a mighty big invasion for a squad this underprepared. [Pre-Chorus] One spark, one wingbeat, one look from the lair, Your whole tough-guy speech turned to smoke in the air. [Chorus] Poke that ancient dragon, get roasted, get toasted, Talk so big, now your whole crew’s ghosted. You’re the ones I most—nah, I won’t boast it, Beat the lot of you alone, didn’t know we were at war till you posted! Surrender right now, save your boots and your pride, Before the Alliance comes marching on your side. You suck at the siege, that’s the plain old truth— Go home, little imps, we’ve got chores to do! [Verse 2] I was counting old runes when your war drums began, Looked up from my tea like, “Was that part of the plan?” I sent one dragon yawning; you scattered in a queue, The Jedi said, “That’s awkward,” and the angels waved adieu. Your captain’s got a crown made of bent tin foil, Your map’s upside down and your marching boots spoil. You brought a cursed banner, we brought a weather report: “Chance of dragon fire: high. Chance you win: short.” [Bridge: choir call and response] Lead: Who picked this fight? Choir: Not us! Lead: Who’s running home? Choir: That’s you! Lead: Who got singed? Choir: Your whole crew! Lead: What should you do? Choir: Surrender—please do! [Final Chorus] Poke that ancient dragon, get roasted, get toasted, Talk so big, now your whole crew’s ghosted. You’re the ones I most—nah, I won’t boast it, Beat the lot of you alone, didn’t know we were at war till you posted! Surrender right now, save your boots and your pride, Before the Alliance comes marching on your side. You suck at the siege, that’s the plain old truth— Go home, little imps, we’ve got chores to do! [Outro] The truce papers are ready. The tea’s getting cold. Sign on the dotted line—and stop poking dragons, fools.
